Big Man For Christmas

Casey slows his pace and lifts himself off my body and looks down. Directly at where we’re joined. He watches the way he’s plunging into me with such focus and such…awe, that it makes me flush with desire and something that I have no words for.

He’s transfixed by the sight of us coming together. It’s crazy and amazing, and I need him. Right now. I can’t wait anymore. Grabbing his shoulders, I pull him back down to me. I love the feeling of his skin on mine, his weight anchoring me. I love the heat that seeps from him, driving away any bit of cold that I’ve been keeping in my soul.

Neither of us hold back now. We come together harder. Faster. We can’t stop until it’s over.

Casey grinds down with his hips as he drives into me, and I shatter into a million pieces, crying out and holding onto him. I feel like I’m nothing but light and breath.

I feel his mouth come down on mine and swallow my cry. I feel him groan as he buries himself one final time and comes. His cock jerks inside me, setting off a whole new wave of ecstasy.

It all comes together in one shining moment before it disappears. I collapse back into my body, breathless and spent, staring up into Casey’s eyes with the same awe that he watched us with.

This can’t be real. It can’t be.

But when he kisses me slowly, I hope that it might be.8CaseyHoly shit.

Carley Farrell is in my arms. Naked. Panting. Utterly relaxed after coming on my cock and under my tongue. Is there any chance that this is truly real and I’m not having a very vivid dream?

Even if it is a dream, I’m going to take the time to savor it. Rolling to the side, I gather her against me, looking her over—feeling her over with my hands—to make sure she’s all right. That had been intense, and the look on her face…

“Are you okay?”

I’m glad that her face is so easy to read. When she smiles like that, it tells me everything I need to know about how she’s feeling. And I want to see that look on her face all the time.

“Thank you,” she says. “For making me feel…” There’s a hesitation before she finishes, “like that.”

I don’t think that was what she was going to say first, but I don’t press her. “Any time.”

She laughs.

“No, seriously. Any time, Carley.”

Looking up at me, she searches my face to see if I’m serious. And I want to track down whoever it was that put all these doubts in her head and give them a piece of my mind.

Then she looks around. “I was a little distracted, but it looks different. The whole house. Not like I remember it.”

“Yeah.” Emotion rises up too quickly, but I keep it in check. “Mom made me promise to make the house my own when it was mine, and after she passed I felt like I had to honor that wish.”

I like this room and what he’s done with it. I’d chosen an entirely new set of colors for the house. Blues and browns and whites. I found them soothing. Vaguely aquatic and beachy, even though we are in the middle of Tennessee and nowhere near the ocean.

“It’s nice,” she says. “You’ve got some good eye for design for a bachelor.”

I smile. “I can’t exactly claim credit for it.” She raises her eyebrows and I break down laughing. “I used a design service. They sent me everything: paint, furniture, and pictures all in this massive crate. I told them what I wanted and approved it, but it definitely wasn’t all me. I did do the painting though.”

Carley grins and leans up to press her lips to the corner of my mouth. “Ain’t you uptown?”

She put on an exaggerated accent and used the phrase from when we were kids. Anything uptown meant the big city. Fancy. And entirely out of our reach most of the time.

“Not as uptown as some.” I shake my head. “I’ll be honest, it took me weeks to figure it out. And I had some help from Jenny Shrum.”

Her eyebrows rise into her hairline. “Cheerleader Jenny? You ended up dating her then?”

I shrug. “Once or twice when we were younger. But she’s married now. Two kids, three step-kids, and no interest in me besides not letting me make a fool of myself. Apparently I had all the furniture in all the wrong places.”

That was meant to make her laugh, but she doesn’t. She winces like I’ve struck her, eyes shuttering completely. There’s more to this story than she’s letting on. Her reactions, the fact that she’s here alone and now in my bed, and I want to know more.

I won’t force her to tell me, but Carley Farrell is the last person that I want to be hurting. “What’s wrong?”